


santa monica dream

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [11]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: He rolled over and sighed.





	santa monica dream

**Author's Note:**

> Santa Monica Dream - Angus & Julia Stone

Bobby woke up, rolled over to face the other side of his tent and sighed.

Next to him was nothing, no one sat in the sleeping bag next to him, no one was up getting breakfast started. He smiled sadly to himself and stretched, cracking his neck and groaning appreciatively as his muscles relax and the discomfort of sleeping on the cold, forest ground fades from his body. Water dripped from a small hole in his tent a few feet away, wetting the ground next to him and forming a little mud puddle. The sound was soothing.

Bobby got up, pulling on his vest and hat. Most of the time he slept dressed, but he believed he had earned a night of relaxation. The leader of that small group, Shelby, told him that Bobby had earned a day of doing nothing, worrying about nothing. So he didn’t worry

That girl was nice. She understood his grief over his wife and son, having lost a brother herself. Unlike him, she wasn’t completely over it, still fading into memories at his mention, and he felt bad every time she mentioned finding him

He was damn sure that boy was dead, but Bobby wasn’t going to be the one to break it to her. He wasn’t that mean.

So instead he started up a little fire, pulling out a bag of sausages she had gotten for him the last time Bobby had veered near their camp. Shelby was so, so kind, giving him supplies when he was running low, despite the fact he wasn’t a part of their little society. He supposed it had something to do with her brother—she always said it was what he would’ve wanted her to do.

Holding the sausage (she had giggled when giving it to him, evidence of her age) out on a stick over the fire, he turned it over a few times, waiting for it to cook fully. When it did, he plucked it off and ate it, savoring the flavor. God, Bobby hasn’t had meat for the longest time. He needed to get hunting again.

Bobby cleaned his gun, sitting under the protection of his tent as it started raining again. With the winter months had come a bunch of rain, forcing him into his little safety area when it started falling. Bobby didn’t like getting wet.

He finished cleaning his gun and put it away, ready to wait out the storm. It didn’t leave easily, however, and Bobby was forced to remain in his tent for the rest of the day. No walkers came.

When the night started falling, Bobby stripped of his hat and vest again, put a small cup under the drip of water that was still falling from his tent, and climbed into his sleeping bag. The ground was still uncomfortable as ever, but he had an easy time adjusting. He had been doing this for months, after all.

He rolled over to face the other side of his tent and sighed. No one was there.


End file.
